


Things Unseen

by der_tanzer



Series: Protective Custody [8]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murray reaches again for the life he always wanted, and continues to be protected by the one who's always wanted him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Relates to Mirage, so major spoilers. Also, warnings for prescription drug use and stoned, giggly!Murray.  
> 

"You know I didn't kill anybody," Murray said, resting his elbows on the crossbar of his cell door and clasping his hands on the other side. The free side. His hands were tasting sweet freedom, but his body wasn't allowed to follow. He resented Quinlan a little for that, but not too much. Letting that girl dupe him, so like Jody the dolphin trainer, only a hundred times worse, left him feeling stupid and ashamed. He didn't deserve to be punished for murder, but he deserved something and this would do. He just hated the idea that Quinlan might actually believe it.

"I ain't got a lot of other suspects, Bozinsky," he replied, sounding both frustrated and indifferent.

"You arrested me because you couldn't find anyone else? By that logic, _anyone_ would do as well. You could have arrested Norm the bagboy from Thriftway."

"Norm the bagboy wasn't diddling the grieving widow."

"Neither was I. She snowed me, you know that. She—she set me up to look like a lover so she could frame me when someone else killed her husband. Ted, you _know_ that. You _know_ I didn't kill him."

There was no one else in the room and Murray felt free to plead his case, man to man. Friend to friend. Maybe even lover to lover, if Quinlan really didn't believe he'd been doing Stephanie. He'd wanted to, sure, but he'd learned his lesson after Jody. He hadn't told Quinlan that he wanted to go out with the girl, and had no intention of doing so until he got the date. Maybe not until they had two or three dates. But now he was caught. Even if Ted didn't think he killed Stephanie's husband, he knew that Murray was looking around again.

"Look, Bozinsky, there's something going on here. I know that; I ain't stupid. Now maybe you had something to do with it and maybe you didn't, but we're sure supposed to _think_ you did. Has it occurred to you yet that you're safer playing along for now?"

"No, it hasn't. We need to help Stephanie, or catch her—one or the other—and I can't do anything locked up in here."

Quinlan threw his papers down on the nearest desk and stormed over to the cell, eyes blazing. Murray was so startled, he drew his hands inside and took a step back lest the lieutenant reach in and grab him.

"You're not supposed to do anything, geek-o. You stay in here, out of the way, and let the authorities handle this. You understand?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not the way I see it. Just sit down and shut up already. I'm still working this case and as soon as we get a better suspect, you can go. Until then, I don't wanna hear it."

Murray retreated to the bunk and sat down, holding his head in his hands. His neck hurt in spite of the supportive brace, and his back ached, making him want to lie down, but not on this painfully thin mattress. He wished Ted would say something friendly, something to let him know where he stood and if he was in trouble for pursuing this woman. He wished his back would stop hurting and, while he was dreaming, that someone would come and bail him out. Even more than he wanted to find the killer, Murray wanted to go home.

He stayed like that until Quinlan left the room.

***

"I don't know what's the matter with you," Cody said in a tone of near amazement. "You know he's innocent. Jeez, Ted, you know Murray as well as anyone by now and you've got him sitting in that cell—"

"Yeah, I do. And did it ever occur to you two geniuses that I might have a reason for that?"

"You mean other than you being a prince among men?" Nick asked dryly.

"Yeah, other than that. Look, I know someone else killed Sheik Abdul-Jabar, or whatever, and I figure that serial marrying broad is in on it. Besides, Bozinsky could no more kill a man in cold blood than he could wrinkle his nose and turn into an Olympic athlete."

"So what's with the joyful arrest scene?" Cody asked, calming slightly. "Are you jealous? Did he dump you again?" He was treading dangerous ground, and Quinlan's angry flush was as scary as it was satisfying.

"Shut up, Allen. Just shut up and think about it. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like he killed that guy. And if they don't already want him dead for messing with that girl, they'll kill him just to keep him out of the way. So don't you think it's a good idea to let them think it worked? Bozinsky's safe enough, and as long as they think he's taking the rap, they won't be so worried about covering their tracks. Is that clear enough, or do I need to draw you a picture?"

"So you arrested Murray to protect him? Is that the idea?" Nick asked doubtfully.

"And to keep you three out of the way. This is police business and I can handle it just fine without your help."

"I'm sure you can," Cody said, offering his most winning smile. "But we'd like to post bail anyway. Murray's never been very fond of jail, and he's having a bad week as it is."

"It's gonna get worse if those killers get their hands on him."

"Nobody's getting their hands on him," Nick said impatiently. "You need all the help you can get with this mess, and _we_ need Murray. You can't refuse after bail's been set and you know it, so let's move this thing along."

"You always know best, don't you? Well, you're right. I can't hold him if you got the money. But you're putting him right back in the middle of a mess he don't belong in."

"It's his mess, Lieutenant," Cody shrugged. "He fell for the girl and he's the one she trusts."

"Bullshit. He's the one she knows she can manipulate, that's all."

"So she trusts that she can manipulate him. It's still a way in. Just let him out and we'll call you as soon as we have anything you can use."

Quinlan gave up arguing and sent them to the desk sergeant to post Murray's bail. When they came back with the receipt, he was waiting at the cell door as if to say goodbye. But Murray didn't seem able to meet his eyes, and when Quinlan unlocked the door, he walked out without a word. The three friends went to the property clerk to retrieve Murray's belongings and Quinlan returned to his office. He didn't know if he'd ever have another chance to speak to the skinny man who held his heart so casually, but he knew now what he'd say if he did.

***

When they finally got home from the airstrip, Murray collapsed behind the salon table and buried his face in his hands. It was a posture he was becoming increasingly familiar with as shame, combined with a sore neck, continued to dominate his life. Not that he wasn't glad to be rescued, and proud of his friends for their courage and ingenuity in doing so, but he'd been made a fool of in so many ways over the last forty-eight hours, he hardly knew how to begin sorting it out.

"You okay, Boz?"

He looked up as a strong hand rested on his shoulder and tried to smile.

"Yes, Cody, I'm fine. I just—I feel like such a fool. Thinking a smart, beautiful girl like that would ever be interested in me…" He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at anyone. "It nearly got me killed, and Ted hates me. Again."

"Quinlan doesn't hate you," Cody said, sitting down beside him.

"He thought I killed Stephanie's husband. How could he believe that, after everything we—well, he ought to know better. Maybe I was wrong to want to go out with her and not tell him, but that's no reason to arrest me for murder. How could he think that?"

"Murray, buddy, that's not why he arrested you," he said, ignoring Nick's slight shake of the head.

"It's not? What are you talking about? Why would he arrest me if he didn't think I did it?"

"To get you out of the way," Nick sighed. "He was protecting you, getting Stephanie to let her guard down."

"What? Wait a minute—how do you know that?"

"He told us."

"He tried to talk us out of bailing you out," Cody added. "I'm wishing now that we'd listened. You could have been safe in that cell instead of getting kidnapped and almost killed."

"No, guys. This whole thing was my fault—it was right that I see it through. If you'd been in danger while I was sitting there in jail—I don't know how I could have stood that. And Ted…"

"Are you going to apologize to him again?"

"Yes, of course. But he won't forgive me this time. God, I'm so _stupid_."

"No you're not," Nick said, at the same time Cody said, "Of course he will."

"What—what do you mean? Why would he? After what I did, mooning over that girl for weeks and never saying anything—I was planning to ask her out, I was absolutely in love, and—and that's not right. Any sane person would be tired of me by now."

"Yeah, but this isn't a sane person we're talking about," Cody laughed. "This is Ted Quinlan and he's crazy about you."

"He is not. He's fooling around with me until something better comes along."

"No, man, I think Cody's right on this. He used police resources and city money to try to protect you. He even talked to us like human beings. I think he really cares about you and he's just waiting for you to make up your mind."

"No, I—I can't believe that. Not after the way I dumped him for Jody and then snuck around behind his back for Stephanie. He won't want anything to do with me."

"No, Nick's right," Cody insisted. "He was still protecting you after he knew about Stephanie. Look, you said it was just a sex thing, right? Just fooling around? Well, I don't think so. Not anymore. You need to talk to him, Murray."

"There's no point, though. He guards himself too closely. He could be madly in love with me and he'd never say so."

"So that's it, then? You're just going to sit here and feel sorry for yourself forever?" Nick asked gently.

"For tonight, at least. You guys—you just don't understand. I fell in love with someone else and didn't tell him. That was the only rule in our relationship—no sharing. He won't forgive me."

"But nothing happened," Nick insisted. "You never had sex with this girl. Hell, you never had _dinner_ with her. And I don't believe you were really in love, either. Infatuated, maybe. A pretty flirt can do that to any man. Probably even Ted Quinlan."

"Ted doesn't like girls," he said dully, crossing his arms on the table and hiding his face in them.

"Not at all?" Cody asked, surprised. Murray started to shake his head and then stopped when a twinge ran down his spine.

"I'll be damned," Nick laughed. "The lieutenant's a better actor than we thought."

"Better than _you_ thought," Cody said. "You owe me five bucks."

"Later. Look, Murray, that just proves what I'm saying here. You know I don't like Quinlan, but he makes you happy, right? At least he does when he's not making you miserable. And if he's really not chasing girls, and he doesn't want to share you with anyone, that sounds to me like a committed relationship, whether he wants to admit it or not. If that's what you want, you better tell him."

"I don't know," Murray said, his voice muffled by his folded arms. "Sometimes I think I do, and then he…"

"He what?"

"He says things that make me think he really doesn't—doesn't want that." Murray raised his head, a new light dawning in his eyes. "You're right. He thinks I don't want that commitment and he's protecting himself. Jeez, I really _am_ stupid." He leapt to his feet, banging his thighs painfully against the edge of the table, and held onto it until he'd caught his balance. "I have to go over there. I have to tell him I'm sorry and—and find out if he'll forgive me."

"You have to go tonight?" Cody asked, looking doubtfully at the gathering dusk outside the windows.

"He won't sleep until he does," Nick said. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

***

Both cars were in the driveway so they knew he was home, but Nick still waited until he saw the door open and Murray go inside. Only then did he drop the Corvette into drive and pull away. If Murray needed a ride home, he would call.

"Kinda late for you to be out, isn't it?" Quinlan asked, turning away to go back to the sofa.

"I couldn't sleep without apologizing. I'm sorry, Ted. I'm sorry about everything. Again."

"You ain't makin' any sense, kid. Sit down and try that again."

"I said I'm sorry. For not telling you I wanted to date Stephanie and for getting into so much trouble over her. It makes a lot of work for you when I get these crushes, doesn't it?"

"All part of my job. Are you gonna sit down or not?"

Murray lowered his sore body gingerly onto the sofa.

"So you're not mad?"

"I didn't say that. You didn't exactly break our deal, but you were going to, weren't you? You were gonna go out with her a couple times, make sure she was the real deal, and _then_ dump my sorry ass. Weren't you?"

"Ted—"

"Don't you _Ted_ me, Bozinsky. Were you or weren't you gonna dump me as soon as you scored with the hot physics broad?"

"Yes," he said miserably. "But why not? You don't want me. You don't want a commitment—at least not to me. You're looking for that one right person, too. You told me so in the beginning."

"And if I did want you? How would you feel about that?"

"What?"

"Answer the question. Is it really just me not wanting the commitment that makes you feel like you need to run after these worthless broads?"

"I—I need someone. I don't want to be alone all my life. If you don't want to be with me for real, if you're just marking time until someone better comes along, what am I supposed to do?"

"That ain't what I'm asking. I'm asking what you want."

"I—well, I—I want—jeez, Lieutenant. What if I did want you? How could I say so? How can I say these things to someone who won't even look me in the eye? Who only speaks to me when no one's watching? How can I say _I love you_ to someone who will never, ever say it back? How am I supposed to say—say that—oh, forget it. Just forget it," he muttered and rose to leave.

"Wait, Murray. Is that what you want to say? That you love me?"

"I—I don't—does it matter? We had a deal, remember?"

"Fuck the deal. Is that what you want to say?"

"Yes," Murray whispered, utterly ashamed.

"Then come back here and say it right."

"What?" All of his joints seemed to loosen at once and he sat down again, finally turning to look at the other man. He had to angle his entire body—it hurt too much to turn his head—and when he did, Quinlan moved closer.

"How could you not know, Murray? You're a smart guy and I gave you enough clues. I was good to you in bed, I gave up my vacation to spend eight days locked in a one room cabin with you, I took you back after you dumped me for that dolphin whore. What more did you need?"

"I—I thought it was just sex. That's what you _said_."

"And people always tell the truth, right?"

"Oh. Oh, Ted, I'm sorry. I'm so—"

"Stop. That's not what I want to hear right now, Murray. You can be sorry later if you really want to. Right now, I just want you to answer the question. What do you really want?"

"I—I want _you_, Ted. I've wanted you, just you, for a long time. But you said—"

"Never mind what I said. None of that matters now, does it?"

"No, I guess it doesn't. I love you, Ted. That's what I wanted to say."

"Good. That's good, kid. Because I love you, too. And maybe if I'd been able to say it first, none of this would have happened."

"I couldn't say it first, either. Maybe this is why guys usually date girls. They sure say it fast enough."

"Only the wrong ones. And it doesn't matter now. You're not gonna be chasing any more girls, right?"

"Right. Or at least not seriously. We still have to keep up appearances, don't we?"

"Yeah, appearances. You're young and good looking, for a geek, so you're gonna have to date a little. But you ain't goin' home with anyone but me, understand?"

"Yes, sir," he smiled and Quinlan's heart pounded painfully. It was so easy. Three little words and the kid was his. He could have said them months ago, and realizing that now made him feel lightheaded and vaguely ill. Scary how easy it was, and how close he'd come to never saying them at all.

"How's your neck? Still sore?" Quinlan asked, almost changing the subject.

"Yeah, it's really stiff. It'll be okay, though. The doctor gave me some muscle relaxants. I just haven't taken any yet."

"Why not?"

"Well, I don't know how strong the effect will be, and we were pretty busy. I thought I'd have one at bedtime and see how I feel in the morning."

"Good idea. You want to stay here tonight, or do you need a ride home?"

"I wouldn't mind staying, but I don't think I'd be up for anything but sleeping."

"That bad, huh?" Quinlan asked, suddenly sympathetic. He'd never seen Murray hurting badly enough that he didn't want to have sex.

"Yeah, well, it's no big deal. I'm sure it'll be fine in a couple days. Maybe—maybe I should just go home."

"You think I'm gonna give you the boot if you don't put out?"

"I don't know what to think, Lieutenant. My head's spinning."

"Give me some credit, huh? My brand of love might not be what you're used to, but it's better than that. Come to bed and I'll rub your neck for you."

"Really?"

"Why not? Take one of your pills and we'll see what happens."

Murray blushed, shy and suddenly gorgeous in his uncertainty, and got stiffly to his feet. Quinlan saw for the first time how much he really must be hurting and steadied him with a strong arm around his waist as they went into the bedroom. He undressed the thin body carefully, took the soft brace from his neck and ordered him into bed. Murray had left the bottle of pills in his pants pocket and Quinlan got one for him, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Murray swallowed the pill, pleased by the attention in spite of the pain, and shivered in happy anticipation.

Regardless of all their differences and the problems that kept springing up as their relationship evolved, Murray had always liked being in this house, in this bed. Quinlan had hurt him in a dozen different ways, with insults and accusations, handcuffs and false arrests, but never here. Never when he was naked, offering everything he had and everything he was, vulnerable and hoping only for something sweet. Quinlan had never disappointed him here, never insulted or attacked him, and tonight was no different.

He sighed contentedly when he felt the mattress sink beneath the heavier man's weight, and then those strong, sure hands were on him, warm and tingly with some hot cream. Something like Ben-Gay, he guessed, only without the smell. That was nice. Ben-Gay made his eyes water, but this was pure heaven. Thick, blunt fingers worked the scant muscle of his neck, digging in firmly but not too hard, easing the stiffness and taking away the pain. Murray wasn't sure how long it went on—the muscle relaxant kicked in at some point and time grew fuzzy before smearing away entirely. He knew when the hands left his body, only to return, both cool and warm with fresh cream, and work their way down his spine. Somehow Quinlan managed to go over the bones without pressing too hard, to find muscle where Murray hadn't known it existed and knead out pain he hadn't felt yet, and even when he dozed, it went on and on. Murray woke to feel those hands on his lower back, napped a few minutes, and found them on his neck again when he woke.

It was a surprise when the kneading fingers traveled down between his shoulder blades again and Murray felt something give in his chest. It went with a nearly audible pop and suddenly he was weeping, his throat clogged with sobs he didn't want to utter as silent tears soaked into the pillow.

"Ted, stop," he choked out, needing to regain control before he was caught and the ridicule began. The massage ceased at once, but the broad hands didn't leave his back.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" he asked, so kindly that Murray's throat closed up altogether.

He coughed and took a deep breath, shaking his head and marveling that the movement caused no pain.

"No, no, it doesn't hurt. It's wonderful. I just—I—well, I don't…" His throat closed up again and he trailed off, gasping for breath.

"If that's all, don't worry about it. It's just the tension leaving your body. That, and you're stoned out of your fucking mind," Ted said quietly, resuming his work. "Go ahead and cry. It'll make you feel better."

Murray squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on breathing. He must have dozed again, because the next thing he knew, he was alone in the big bed. His body felt limp and wrung out, utterly boneless and immobile, but when he concentrated, he realized that he did have a fairly hard and demanding erection. Funny how that could happen. Slowly, feeling heavy limbed and smothered, he turned on his side and stroked himself lightly. He was probably too tired to come, but if he wasn't, if he could achieve an orgasm in the next couple minutes, he was sure he'd fall asleep for real. The only flaw in the plan was his sudden complete loss of coordination. Murray had never been athletic by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd been able to jerk off successfully for a good twenty years now, and his failure at this moment struck him as more humorous than anything else. He was running his fingers over the vein at the root of his cock and giggling softly to himself when Quinlan came back, having just been to the bathroom to wash the tingling cream from his hands.

"You're awake," he said, and for some reason, that made Murray laugh harder. "I'm guessing you lied to the doctor about your weight, right? Added fifteen or twenty pounds to make it sound better? 'Cause I'm thinking those pills are a little too strong for a scrawny geek like you."

"Oh, no," Murray giggled, not at all offended. "I was very honest. And I feel fine, Ted. Teddy. Teddy, Ted, Ted. Ted the Head."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna feel real bad in a minute if you don't shut up," he said, taking off his robe and sliding into bed.

"Sorry. Ted."

"Jesus, this is even worse than when you drink. Come here, kid. You're not gonna get anywhere fiddling around like that." He slipped an arm around Murray's shoulders, supporting his head to keep the strain off his neck, and took his cock in his other hand, squeezing it long and slow from base to tip. Murray stopped giggling and cried out softly, his eyes rolling back in his head. Quinlan rose up on his elbow and kissed him, hard and insistent, biting Murray's lips as he whimpered and moaned. Ted pulled away just long enough to ask if he was all right, and when Murray nodded, resumed kissing and stroking him in that same insistent way. It only took a couple of minutes to bring him off, bucking and thrusting as if he'd never heard of neck strain, and then he was drifting off to sleep, still cradled in Ted's arms.

Quinlan thought about it for just a few seconds before deciding that no one would get hurt if he came, too. He picked up Murray's limp hand and wrapped it around his own throbbing erection, gasping sharply when Murray gave him a reflexive squeeze. He held the long fingers tightly in place with his own hand and stroked himself swiftly to climax. Not exactly romantic, he thought, settling down close beside his sleeping lover, but definitely better than nothing. And there was always tomorrow. Now that the words had been spoken and the promises made real, he could sleep easy. Murray would always be there now.


End file.
